


The Lady

by rougefox



Series: The Four Redheads Sandor Clegane Kissed [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Healing Sex, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougefox/pseuds/rougefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa as Aylane visits the Quiet Isle to seek the political approval of the Elder Brother. Sandor seeks her out to tell her about the time he spent with Arya, only to find that his little bird has grown up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the third story in this series, but the second installment has been giving me problems so I decided to go ahead and post this one.

Her hair was brown and she called herself Alayne, but Sandor Clegane would know who she really was no matter how hard she tried to hide.

 

She arrived on the Quiet Isle with Lothor Brune and some other knight he didn’t recognize. The standards of the Vale were flowing around them and her dress had a falcon stitched across the sky blue bodice.

 

The Quiet Isle sat at the border of the Vale and Riverlands, but the Brothers swore no fealty but to the Seven.

 

She claimed she was a legitimized bastard and with the High Sparrow running things in Kingslanding she would need the support of the holy brothers to keep the Faith Militant from overrunning the Vale.

 

The Elder Brother might claim a life of simplistic piety, but his word was gold with all of the leaders of the Faith of the Seven.

 

Sandor’s suspicions had started when he was called in front of the Elder Brother.

 

“There has been a raven,” the Elder Brother offered him weak cider knowing he had forsaken wine.

 

“The new Lady of the Vale is asking for our support in regards her legitimacy. She says she is the natural daughter of Petyr Baelish, but was legitimized by Myrcella Baratheon before the Faith took over Kingslanding. I only know Baelish from his reputation as a purveyor of sin in Kingslanding. Did you know the man? Could you tell me of him?”

 

Sandor had not spoken in over two months. His voice was a low growl, “Aye, I was unfortunate enough to know the man. He owned brothels in Kingslanding and is a master liar and manipulator. He never mentioned having a daughter so I would be weary of this woman.”

 

“He was,” corrected the Elder Brother. “Petyr Baelish was executed last year for the murder of Lysa and Robin Arryn.”

 

Sandor stared into his empty cup. “I also knew the Arryn family. They didn’t deserve that.”

 

“Apparently Baelish’s daughter was a key witness,” The Elder Brother said and made no motions to refill his cup. “Her husband, Harry Harding, now Lord of the Vale was the one who carried out the sentence. But it gives me pause, she meant to slay her father but was clever enough to get someone else to do it for her.”

 

“The world is a better place without Petyr Baelish.”

 

 

“That may be true, but I would think you have learned by now that hateful thoughts for the dead block the joy from the Light of the Seven,” replied the Elder Brother. “I expect you to carry out your penance before returning to your digging.”

 

 

***

 

Sansa was really good at being Alayne. If he hadn’t spent almost two years watching her out of the corner of his eye he would never have guessed she anyone but Alayne Harrding.

 

 

She was taller than he remembered. Even in her conservative gown he could see her hips and bust had filled out nicely. She still had all her courtesy, and used it well.

 

 

Her false background included being raise to be a Septa, only leaving to join her “father” when she flowered. Sandor remembered her piety was almost as important to her as her courtesy. She easily fooled the Brothers with her knowledge of the Seven, and then sealed their approval with her sweet voice when she sang the Seven Hymns after dinner.

 

 

That damn song for the Mother made him ache on the inside.

 

 

If only he could talk to her; ask her how she ended up with Littlefinger, ask for her forgiveness for coming to her covered with blood then held her down with a knife at her throat.

 

 

It was the need to tell her about her sister that finally drove Sandor out of his bed when the moon was high.

 

 

She was staying in one of the little beehive huts on the other side of isle, completely unguarded and alone as her knights had to stay in the men’s quarters.

 

 

_Sansa, I have to tell you about your sister. She was with me for almost half a year. I kept her safe and she rode away from me while I lay dying on the banks of the Trident._

 

 

He repeated those words in his head over and over again trying to convince himself that was all he was going to do when he saw her.

 

 

There was only one hut with smoke curling out of it. He heard rumbling in the distance, a squall was building over the bay.

 

 

 _Tell her about her sister then get the fuck out of here before the rain comes and you have to explain why you’re sopping wet and creeping around at night_.

 

 

She was sitting at a little table reading a copy of the Seven Pointed Star by the light of a single candle when he opened the door.

 

 

She quickly reached down and pulled a long, skinny dagger from her boot and he had to laugh.

 

 

“Little bird, do you even know how to use that?”

 

 

Her eyes grew wide in surprised. Her mouth fell open.

 

 

“Sandor Clegane!’ she whispered.

 

 

He suddenly realized she would probably scream or try to attack him. She might have even tried to hide under the table. She hadn’t seen him since the night he held her down covered in blood with dagger at throat.

 

 

Sandor had not expected her to run up to him and rip the hood of his robe off his head and pull down the cowl covering the bottom of his face.

 

 

They both stood staring at each other for a tense moment. He had to hunch over to fit in the tiny hut; they were almost face to face.

 

 

“I'm uglier than you remember, little bird,” he whispered, but she didn't flinch.

 

 

“They said you were dead,” she finally said. “They said you destroyed the Saltpans. How long have you been here?”

 

 

“Two years,” his voice creaked from disuse.

 

 

“I knew you would never do what they said you did at the Saltpans! I wept when they said you were dead!” she exclaimed.

 

 

She had never looked him directly in the face when she lived in Kingslanding. She was looking now, eyes wide, bottom lip shaking. Her eyes were shimmering with the threat of tears.

 

 

He had never been good at comforting anyone so he did the only thing that came to mind; he grasped her shoulders and kissed her.

 

 

She should have shoved him away; she could have bitten him or screamed. He did not expect her to kiss him back or wrap her arms around him like she did. She tasted of the weak cider they served at dinner.

 

 

When he broke it off she looked surprised.

 

 

“Sansa…”

 

 

“Aylane” she corrected.

 

 

“No,” he said softly. “You are Sansa Stark and I have to tell you about what happened to your sister, Arya.”

 

 

 “You saw Arya?”

 

 

“More than that.”

 

 

_Gods she smells so good, her hair was still soft, her beautiful blue eyes… She kissed me! Fuck! Stop acting like a love sick green boy…_

 

 

“She was traveling with these outlaws. I was passed out drunk under a tree…”

 

 

***

 

 

Sansa’s eyes never left his face as he told her the story.

 

 

“You had to roll her up in your cloak and tie her up?” She burst out laughing.

 

 

Sandor had never heard her laugh in Kingslanding. Maybe all those years ago on the Kingsroad, but never in the Red Keep.

 

 

“I told you, she tried to bash my head in with a rock!”

 

 

Sansa laughed again.

 

 

“Did you get her to my Mother?” her smiled turned sad.

 

 

Clegane sighed, “No. We got to the Twins as the butchering started. She tried to run into the castle, I had to hit her with the flat of my ax to keep her from being slaughtered with everyone else.”

 

 

Sansa chewed her bottom lip. “Thank you for saving her.”

 

 

He could see her eyes swim with tears again. She sighed and smoothed her skirts over her crossed legs.

 

 

They were sitting on the floor so Sandor didn't have to stoop against the ceiling.

 

 

“What happened after you left the Twins?” she asked regaining her composure.

 

 

He told her about wandering, trying to get to the Eyrie (“that's where I was,” she said quietly but did not elaborate.), trying to settle in the little village in the Mountains of Moon, then the fight at the Inn at the Crossroads. Sandor debated telling Sansa that her sister had killed two people. Ayra had been in such a fit he had to pull her off the Tickler, his back had been reduced to shredded meat. The squire had been inconsequential.

 

 

“My leg got infected,” he continued. “She left me on the side of the Trident. I think she rode for the Saltpans.”

 

 

Sansa nodded grimly.

 

 

He scooted closer and put a big hand on her shoulder. She didn't tremble, she didn't flinch, she looked into his face needing reassurance.

 

 

“I know she got out of there before it was invaded,” he tried to convince her. “Your sister is tough. She lasted a month with my brother at Harrenhal, she lived with outlaws and she wandered the Riverlands with me for a better part of a half a year. She probably hopped a ship to the Wall and your bastard brother is hiding her.”

 

 

Sansa sighed. She covered his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze.

 

 

“Thank you” she whispered.

 

 

Her hand on his was soft. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him out of any reason outside of utility.

 

 

All the women who came to the Quiet Isle were in need of the Elder Brothers healing or a place to die peacefully. Sansa was alive and whole.

 

 

Sandor knew he shouldn't ask but he was desperate to know how she came to be Littlefucker’s “daughter”. “What happened to you?” 

 

 

Sansa’s eyes dropped. She took her hand away from his and started worrying the hem of her dress. Sandor regretted his words. He tried to take them back, but she stopped him.

 

 

“I should have gone with you,” she said pulling her knees to her chest. She fidgeted with her sleeve,” That night the Blackwater Burned, you were so terrifying; covered in blood, smelling of wine, at first I thought you were going to kiss me, then I thought you were going to kill me.”

 

Sandor winced. Of all the sins he confessed, the one he never mentioned was how he regretted not taking Sansa Stark’s maiden head before he left Kinglanding. Now she was a woman, wedded and bedded. Twice apparently.

 

 

“If I knew then what I know now, I would have packed a bag and met you in the stable,” she laughed sadly.

 

 

He had thought about that night over and over in his head a thousand times in the last two years. It never ended well. The best case would have been getting her to her mother and brother in time for her to be butchered by the Freys. The worst was him getting drunk one night and raping her bloody out in the woods before abandoning her and running off to Essos in his shame. Even worse would have been to unwittingly hand her over to the Northmen who would have given her to Roose Bolton’s bastard.

 

 

“You and Lord Tyrion where the only people who seemed to care if I lived or died back then,” she sniffed. “And you held steel to my throat twice.” She rubbed her eyes but her face was dry.

 

 

“Tyrion never touched me, he had his whores,” she continued. “You tried to help me but I was being stupid and naïve. You came for me during the bread riots….”

 

 

Stranger had fled with the other horses back to the Keep. Without a horse the rioters would have overwhelmed him like they did with Santigar. Sandor had seen her hair, Sansa still had a horse. He had cut his way to her as they tried to pull her off. She was pleading and screaming. He had sliced one man’s arm off before shoving her back in the saddle and mounting up in front of her.

 

 

 _Hold on!_ He had snarled at her. She had wrapped her arms around his chest. He had felt her trembling through his armor. _Don't look!_

 

 

He cut them down, all who stood in his way till they were back in the Keep. It seemed a life time ago. Some other Sandor Clegane had rescued a beautiful little girl from a starving mob.

 

 

“I kept the cloaks you gave me,” Sansa said bringing him back to the room. “Both of them; the one you left me when you left Kingslanding and the one you gave me the day Joffrey had me stripped and beaten.”

 

 

_I stood in my white cloak and watched them beat her._

 

 

Sandor was beginning to wish he had never sought her out. She was ripping open old wounds; digging her hands into his flesh till she wrapped her soft hands around his heart and squeezed.

 

 

Sansa looked him in the face now, it was unnerving. “I had to leave them in Kingslanding when I fled after Olenna Tyrell and Littlefinger murdered Joffrey,” she explained. “ Ser Dontos got me out. Then Littlefinger shot him and took me to the Eyrie where he shoved my aunt through the moon door and poisoned my cousin.”

 

 

 Sandor's jaw dropped, “Ser Dontos? _That drunken fool?_ ”

 

 

She smiled at him, “I was 14 and naïve, and he never came to me covered in blood.”

 

 

Sandor gritted his teeth. The fucking drunken fool handed her over to Littlefinger.

 

 

Sansa studied his face.

 

 

“I dreamt of you on my wedding night,” she blurted out.

 

 

He laughed, he couldn't help it. “Was the imp really that disappointing?”

 

 

“I told you, he didn't touch me,” she looked annoyed. “I dreamt you were in bed with me and kissed me."

 

 

He laughed again, “You’re joking.”

 

 

“No!” Sansa leaned forward and swatted him on the thigh. “I kept having those dreams when I got to the Vale. As I got older and learned more they got more interesting….” She bit her lip and blushed.

 

 

Sandor laughed harder.

 

 

“You're married to Harry Harding now,” he said finally. “ From what I hear he is the prefect knight. You finally got your fair faced _ser.”_

 

 

“Oh yes!” Sansa shifted her knees under her. “My lord husband is fair and chivalrous! And a drunk that doesn't think past knocking other men off of horses, when he’s not fathering bastards!”

 

 

She crept closer to him.

 

 

“On my wedding night, after the bedding ceremony when my fair Lord husband fell asleep halfway through his duty and I had to shove him off me so I could breathe, I dreamt of you again,” she said softly as she moved closer.

 

She was so close he could smell her: lavender soap, cider, horse.

 

“In my dream you did things with me… to me…. and I did them to you,” she placed her hands on his shoulders. She had a smile on her face, like a cat who had finally caught a mouse.

 

“You have no idea how disappointed I was to wake up and find some fair haired knight in bed.”

 

Sandor tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go.

 

Sansa placed her hands on his wrists and pulled his hands to her waist. She was warm under the wool, his hands prickled. He had not touched a living woman in almost three years.

 

“Ever since I flowered men have been putting their hands on me even though I don't want them to.” Sansa put her hands behind her back; he could hear the rustle of cloth.

 

 

_What the fuck is she doing?_

 

 

“They tell me it's my duty to let them, or their entitled to it or I have to because they're doing me a kindness,” she whispered.

 

 

Sandor felt the fabric loosen around her waist. She started to bunch up her skirts over her hips.

 

 

_She’s out of her mind._

 

 

“You’re the only person whose touch I dreamed about. Who left me panting and frustrated upon waking,” she leaned as close as she could get to his face.He could feel her warm breath on his neck.

 

 

He knew he should push her away. Talk her out of what he was sure she wanted to do, explain to her that this was a bad idea; he lived with holy men and she was married. But she was pulling her dress over her head. His found his hands placed on her bare waist above her small clothes. He watched her nipples harden in the chilly air and he knew he was done for.

 

She pulled his hands to her breasts and started tugging at the sash on his robe.

 

“Sansa, what are you doing?” he felt he needed to make one last effort to sway her before giving up completely.

 

 

She smiled up at him and suddenly the thin dagger was in her hand again, the point under his chin.

 

“Getting what I want. You owe me a song.”

 

***

 

 

Sandor tried to keep up, but it had been so long since he had been with a woman. He tried to distract himself so he could last longer than a squire during his first fuck. Still the first time was over too quickly. Sansa didn’t seem to mind. As she laid next to him, she told him they could do other things.

 

Sansa helped him give her pleasure with his mouth and fingers. She returned the pleasure, and he had to drive the anger way when he thought about who had shown her how to do that first. She kissed his face and ran her hands over his scars. When he took her from behind he almost went limp; she had long white scars over her shoulders from a whip and raised flesh on her thighs from being hit with the flat of Ser Meryn's sword. She could feel his eyes on her so she turned over her shoulder and demanded that he fuck her hard. He complied with her request till they peaked together and both collapsed on the straw mattress covered in sweat. Later after Sansa dozed off, he kissed over the scars on her back and held her tight to his chest.

 

She had woken him after a few hours by taking his manhood into her mouth again. Sandor almost begged for mercy, but relented when she climbed on top of him and did all the work herself.

 

Now Sansa laid in his arms as he tried not to doze off again.

 

 

“I’m glad you didn’t kill your brother,” she said out of nowhere. “Killing him wouldn’t have healed your face or made you a better person. You would have felt elated for a while, but in the end it won’t have been worth the time and effort."

 

Before he could stop himself he asked, “Why do you say that, little bird?”

 

Sansa started pulling at the threads of the scratchy wool blanket that covered them both. The candle on the table had burned low and he could hear the rain outside.

 

“When I watched Harry lop off Littlefinger’s head, it brought me no peace. It didn’t bring back the two years he tormented me, tortured me. It didn’t bring my father or mother or brothers back. The satisfaction I got from watching him march to the chopping block, knowing it was me who put him there dissipated when I watched them shove his body over the cliffs.”

 

Sandor pulled her closer, she nuzzled his chest.

 

“From what I heard Gregor died horribly,” he replied softly. He wanted this conversation to end. “What came after was a horrible monster. His death was worse than anything I could ever have done to him. He’s dead and I’m not.”

 

For a while, neither of them spoke. There were no windows, but he knew he would have to leave soon.

 

“Come with me,” she whispered. “Back to the Vale.  Harry is useless and I have to do everything. I could really use some support, even if its just a hulking man with a sword standing behind me to punctuate my authority.“

 

“I can't be the man I was,” he whispered in her hair. If anyone ever found out he had committed adultery on the island, especially with the woman married to the liege lord of the Vale he would be banished. If he went with her, he'd be worse than useless; a despised, lame man with a price on his head who had spent the last two years shoveling dirt instead of swinging a sword. His leg was bad and he would never recover completely. He was old before his time.

 

The little bird smiled at him, “Then be the man you are now.”

 

 

She looked so soft and innocent, but she had steel behind her eyes.

 

 

“That's all I will ever ask of you, leave the rest to me.”

 

 

 


End file.
